


gooey

by venomondenim



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Begging, Bottom George, Boys in Skirts, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Feminization, George is a brat, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Named After A Glass Animals Song as a Right of Passage, Panties, Phone Sex, Smut, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, cross-dressing, top dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29844021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomondenim/pseuds/venomondenim
Summary: The thing was: it was like a secret.A secret between Geroge and no one else. He could sit on stream, with his hoodie on and face in the corner while no one was any wiser as to what he was wearing out of frame. They’d auto-fill him into joggers, or jeans, or something else completely benign and mundane. George liked that. He liked how he could have plausible deniability, because who could guess what he was actually wearing out of the scope of the camera.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 201





	gooey

**Author's Note:**

> i have to thank sage for dragging me into this fandom kicking and screaming. you're the bomb. also thank you to all my marvel friends who's been tolerating this jump.

George wanted the record to show that he had _not_ in fact worn it for Dream. 

And any other notes on the matter that claimed he had were _false_. 

The truth was that he liked how it made him feel. It wasn’t something that he did all the time, or something he felt comfortable in all the time. It was saved for special occasions. Like, when he wanted to feel pretty on a stream. 

The thing was: it was like a secret. 

A secret between Geroge and no one else. He could sit on stream, with his hoodie on and face in the corner while no one was any wiser as to what he was wearing out of frame. They’d auto-fill him into joggers, or jeans, or something else completely benign and mundane. George liked that. He liked how he could have plausible deniability, because who could guess what he was actually wearing out of the scope of the camera. 

It wasn’t something that he started right away. 

The first skirt he had gotten had been a joke. He had been at a party with his mates, half-drunk and his tongue tasting like cherries. One of his friends had joked about him being so tiny that he could probably fit into one of her skirts. It had been funny. They both had choked on manic laughter as George had wiggled into one of her skirts. The one in question was tight, and denim, and had a line of buttons that slid up the entire front. 

George had stared at himself in the mirror, the bubbles of laughter dying harshly in his throat. 

He looked…

 _Good._

Better than good, actually. 

The skirt hugged over his delicate frame, and only highlighted how slender his hips were. The skirt didn’t transform his shape, but it did give him a slight indention of a hip curve, and his thighs looked soft. 

George squirmed out of the skirt with a bright red face and stammered something about her being right, and that they had had their fun. He shrugged himself back into his pair of jeans, and waved the whole thing off. 

It was only after he had gotten home, late enough that the sun was peaking through his curtains and he could feel a nasty hangover already poking at the edges of his skull. He pulled up a website onto his phone and thumbed over the different images lining the page. 

He clicked on one. 

The description listed it as a “skater skirt”, pleated, short, and bubblegum pink. 

George swallowed heavily. 

He thought about how the pink would look against his pale skin. Would it make him look softer? Would it…

He balked over the sizing options, brows scrunching up at the single-digit numbers. He bit his lip and did a quick Google search that gave him a number. He selected it in his “size”, heart stuttering when it came up that it was in stock and had been added to his cart. 

He clicked onto his cart, ready for a speedy checkout when his eyes skated across the “Frequently Bought With” section. There was a baby blue one that was floaty and oh so soft looking. It came with a matching pair of baby blue socks that were lined with cartoon drawings of clouds. George added it to his cart without much further thought, and kept scrolling. There were more skirts, in every shade and style that could be imagined, and there were also kneesocks. 

The knee-socks made him think of that one _Arctic Monkeys_ song and he hummed it to himself as he continued to browse over the options. In the end, he added a white pair of socks that had a strip of lace at the top, a black and white plaid skirt that reminded him of the “school girl” look that was always in porn, and lastly, a damning black skirt lined with green that even came paired with a pair of ostentatiously green socks. 

George’s heart thundered in his chest when he first saw them. They made him think of-

He didn’t allow himself to finish that thought. 

Instead, he hurriedly filled in his card information and finished his purchase. Once he got the email that his order had been placed, he sat his phone down gently, and curled onto his side. It wasn’t long before sleep took him. 

+

“Is there something wrong with your chair?” Dream asked while they were on call, following it with his signature breathy laugh. 

“What?” George queried. “There’s nothing wrong with my chair.” 

“Well, you keep wiggling around.” Dream pointed out. 

George froze; ice filling his veins. 

“I,” George licked his lips unconsciously. “I do?” 

“Yeah,” He got another Dream laugh. “You keep squirming and scrunching your nose, figured something was wrong.” 

George had to work hard to keep his face carefully and neutrally blank. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Okay,” Dream agreed easily. “Do you wanna end the stream?” 

“Yeah,” George sighed, they were well past the point of productivity, especially with everyone else having hopped off. “This was fun, bye guys!” He said cheerily to that chat and clicked off. 

Once they were safely out of view of anyone else Dream hedged, “Seriously though, what’s up?” 

George halted all movement, conscientious of it. He hadn’t thought Dream would’ve kept pressing, but he continued. “Tell me all about it, Georgie,” He teased, which had George rolling his eyes sharply. 

George racked his brain for an appropriate answer, while his stomach swooped. He was careening through open air. “Something just keeps snagging, that’s all.” He settled on, his mouth dry. 

“What does that mean?” Dream breathed, an amused lilt at the edges of his word. “Snagging on what?” 

“Oh my God, Dream, just drop it,” George snarked, careful not to squirm again. 

He was streaming in a skirt. It was something he had been doing for months, and he had racked up quite the collection. He had learned that the “skater” style of his first skirt was his favorite, especially when they were short. They flared out, making him look soft, and delicate, and pretty. The skirts were a comfort when he needed to feel that on stream - when he needed that extra boost of confidence. 

Dream also gave him that confidence. But, he also made him want to crawl inside his shell even further whenever his attention was fully trained onto him, even though all he craved was his attention. 

He was in a new skirt today. It was a bright, almost neon purple pleated schoolgirl piece that folded over in the front with a black seam. It had a black heart emblem over the seam, and George had paired it with the white knee socks lined in lace. The lace was seethrough in its strip on his thighs, but his skin was so pale you could hardly tell. George liked how there was a shock of contrast between the depth of purple and the crisp white of the kneesocks. 

After his initial exploration with the skirts George had gotten a little braver. He had gotten over the intense wash of shame that had threatened to drown him in the beginning. It led to him staring at the package of three items that rested on his bed, waiting to be opened. 

He tore open the package gingerly and pulled out the offending garments, which were each wrapped in their own respective plastic. The crinkling was deafeningly loud in his ambient room, and his fingers were shaking so much that he almost dropped them. 

He ripped open the plastic. 

They looked so tiny.

George briefly wondered how everything would _fit_ , because there was surely no way-

He took a rattling breath in, one that tugged on his lungs, and thumbed at his boxers, pulling them down his legs and off. He kicked them off to the side. He held his breath until he was dizzy, and on the exhale, along with the accompanying head rush, he dipped his feet through the two openings and tugged them up to his knees. Once they reached his thighs, it was easy to stand up and secure them into place. 

When he stepped over to look at himself in his mirror he got a head rush for a completely different reason. 

He looked obscene. 

He looked... _slutty_. 

“Oh,” He breathed like it had been punched out of him. 

He had bought the panties out of experiment, and experiment alone. He hadn’t even been convinced that he would like how they looked or felt. He had always been a-okay with boxers. 

The first pair were light pink, and silky. He lifted up his hoodie to get a better look, and shuddered at the drag of the fabric against his most sensitive places. They hugged over his ass, the cut of them making it look way better than it usually did. 

What mainly grabbed his attention, however, was his cock. He felt heat flood the vessels in his cheeks, and he was sure his blush spread itself all the way down to his chest. His cock was a bulge, just held in precariously by the front of the panties. It pressed against the fabric, sticking out in a way that George couldn’t take his eyes away from. He could feel his cock swelling at even the mere idea of getting hard, and what that would look like. George raked his teeth over his bottom lip as he thought about how it would look with a wet stain on the front of them. 

He spent about five more minutes ogling his form in the mirror until he was so hard he was _aching_. He ended up jacking off, laid out on his bed with one hand slipped underneath his panties. He got cum all over them and his hand by the time he was finished, and rolled over in bed, sinking his face into the pillow with shame. A wash cycle might not be enough to save them, he mused, trying his best to ignore how his limbs all felt like jelly and his stomach still simmered.

It was probably the hardest he ever had came in his life. 

It was two weeks after that incident that George was feeling bold. 

The skirts on stream had lost their edge. They provided him with comfort, and he _did_ feel pretty in them, but they had lost their initial danger. 

He wanted to do something risky. 

Which led him here, sitting in his chair with a skirt, kneesocks, and panties underneath his skirt. 

He really had been doing his best to not draw attention to himself, or squirm around on stream, but he couldn’t help it. The way that the satin glided over his dick had kept him hard for practically the entire stream. Most of the blood in his brain had rushed south, and that paired with the skirt had George feeling slutty in the best way. He felt pretty. He felt _sexy._

“I’m not gonna drop it,” Dream replied to him, letting out a breathy chuckle at the end. “What’s got you so bothered, Georgie?” 

George slammed his eyes shut as a herd of butterflies made home in the pit of his stomach, assigning themselves rooms inside his organs. It wasn’t like the idea of Dream hadn’t crossed his mind. He thought about Dream constantly, despite himself. His voice was enough to turn him into a pathetic mess. He knew he would do anything to keep Dream’s attention on him, it was past the point of craving and had moved onto an addiction.

George bit his lip. “You’d laugh at me,” He said, grasping desperately, hoping that that wasn’t true. 

“I’d never laugh at you, Georgie,” Dream told him, his voice dripping with sincerity. When George didn’t say anything he continued, “Not if it was something important.” 

“I wear stuff when I stream, sometimes,” George blurted out, getting it over with like a bullet caught between his teeth. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he couldn’t help but feel like this was the beginning of ends of sorts. 

“Yeah?” Dream said like he didn’t understand the point. “You were wearing a hoodie like usual, I saw you.” 

George licked his dry lips, wondering if he could get away with stopping there. Dream must have sensed this. 

“What do you wear, Georgie?” 

George sucked in a painful breath, one that twinged at his lungs and twitched his diaphragm. “It’s off-camera.” 

“Can I see?” Dream asked, his voice ever so quiet through the speaker on George’s desk. When George hesitated he said, “I promise I won’t laugh.” 

“Okay,” George said, unsettled and off-kilter. His hands were shaking as he turned the camera on for the call. His face came into frame, with his hoodie and ruddy cheeks. He tugged at the edge of his skirt nervously with his hands until he gathered up enough courage. 

He stood up, his bottom half appearing in frame. You could see his skirt, and socks, and how they made his knees look less knobby and more dainty, like he was pretty, like he was delicate. His heart pounded in his chest and he could hear every beat deafeningly loud in his ears. 

His throat was dry, and his voice cracked, but he had to ask. “What do you think, Dream?” 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter, tumblr, or discord @venomondenim


End file.
